


Invention

by Xiruru



Series: Missa Brevis [1]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Embracing my inner dork, M/M, Piano, Roy/Ed - Freeform, musician au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 07:09:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6274699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xiruru/pseuds/Xiruru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Invention – A musical work comprised of two voices or “melodies” occurring at the same time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Invention

_Invention – A musical work comprised of two voices or “melodies” occurring at the same time. These works are best known thanks to Johann Sebastian Bach._

He played like no other; a humble player, but fierce and explosive. He played for passion and for his inner nightmares. He was so young, they all had to whisper, so young but yet filled with a talent that no one else could understand. Some likened him to Mozart himself.

A prodigy.

And then someone wrecked a car into their house.

And then someone destroyed his entire livelihood, his reason for continuing to exist when he thought there were only two things left to him. And that one was enough to keep going, but it wasn’t enough to keep _him_ going, not really. 

When he looked down at his arm in the hospital bed, at the staunch bandages wrapped around the stump of his shoulder and the empty space where five pieces of his mini orchestra were missing, all he saw was the passion that had been cut off and locked away forever, leaving him a husk.

Leaving him without _meaning_.

He wandered the halls listlessly after that, holding back what he felt, what he thought, what he knew he couldn’t do any longer. If he said any of it out loud, he thought he might just drop dead right then and there. 

And then he heard someone playing.

The piano in the hospital was out of tune. It was rickety, and one of the notes at the far end was missing.

But someone was playing. Each note was played in perfect rhythm. There was no passion to it. No musicality. It was played as if a robot had sat down at it, fully mechanical.

It shouldn’t have attracted him. But it did.

Because the man playing it wore bandages over his eyes. 

He couldn’t see the keys, but he could still play. He was by no means fantastic. He didn’t play for anything more than a hobby, that much was immediately obvious. But if he could play, even when he could no longer _see_ . . . 

Then what was stopping Edward Elric from doing the same?


End file.
